


drunk drivers/killer whales

by Pearly_Pornography



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Car Accidents, Drug Use, Gen, Past Abuse, Slurs, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-14 01:09:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15377391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: Seth getting in a drunken car crash sends Pickles out to a strange part of his past.Meanwhile, Murderface joins the official Hammersmith Trauma Club nearly 20 years late.





	drunk drivers/killer whales

It began with a bottle of vodka and a car crash.

Okay, well, really it began with all that prophecy crap and Toki getting kidnapped.

Okay,  _okay,_ it really must've began with that stuff between Murderface and Magnus all those years ago.

Sitting in a hospital room with your baby brother was something. Your baby brother, who gave you a haircut when he was 8 and scraped his knee on the same hill while scootering constantly. It was all so sudden, first they're chugging orange juice from a sippy cup, next they're guzzling booze in a novelty flask. It's funny if you don't think about it.

It'd been years since Pickles had registered has brother as vulnerable. He wasn't sure when it happened last, the days all blend together at a certain point in one's life. But usually when they were younger, the first thing Seth wanted was to get back up and outside. A fever could only just barely keep him down. If Seth was so ill that he didn't even try to get out of bed, it frightened Pickles in his childhood years. He'd think his younger brother was going to die.

However, today it was a broken rib, busted-up leg, dislocated shoulder, busted nose, and sour disposition. All tied up in bandages with a nasty piss bag that had a tube hidden under the sheets. Pickles grimaced. 

"Do yeh really need that thing?"

"I ain't gettin' up."

Seth wasn't looking him in the eye, instead he solemnly gazed at the wall to his left. It struck something buried deep in Pickles' psyche. Hidden, but not at all forgotten. The pushed out lip, downturned brows, the way his cheeks pressed upward to keep the tears trapped in his head. It was all so... familiar. Seth looked up, eyes half-lidded.

"Whuttuh you lookin' at."

Pickles twitched. "Izzere some'n on muh face?"

"Uh, no."

Seth huffed, grimly staring back at the wall.

"...Yeh wanna talk about it?"

"'bout what."

"The whole drunk drivin' thing."

"Why? You do it all th' time."

"Was Amber in there?"

"No."

"Was yer  _son_ in there?"

"No."

Pickles exhaled. At least there was that. And yet, the weight lifted from his shoulders felt like very little. He still felt like he was being crushed. Something was looming, hanging low, and he wasn't sure what it was.

"...I think visitin' hours are almost over."

"Mm."

"I'll see yeh soon as I can."

"Y'don't have to."

-

"Welcome."

Being invited to a weird cult in the middle of the day was a new experience for Murderface. And considering he had few new things to experience, it was nice to, once in awhile, have that feeling again. A rush, almost. And yet... He wasn't sure how to feel about this one. 

"What isch thisch? The fuckin' Manschon Family 2.0?"

"No." Abigail rolled her eyes. "It's the official  _Hammersmith Trauma Club_."

"The wuhuhhawha...?"

"The H- Give me that." Edgar mumbled, snatching a flashlight from Abigail's hands and pointing it at his face. "The  _Hammersmith Trauma Club_ , a group of people personally victimized by Magnus Hammersmith, which I just learned, uh, includes you."

"Doctor Twinkletits recommends it--"

Abigail shushed Toki, but not before Murderface caught on.

"Did you pretend you were allowing me in a cult scho I'd join your schtupid therapy group?"

"...It would've worked."

"Fuck thisch."

"Waits, Moiderface!"

Murderface stopped on the way out the door. "I hads no ideas about... you know."

"Shut up."

Toki whined a bit. Murderface immediately felt bad. "I'm schorry, I juscht..."

"Doctor Twinkletits says we shoulds comfronts our problems heads on, and I thought it would... helps... sorries."

God, his stupid fucking pout was so adorable. Edgar was even aiming his shitty flashlight at Toki just to emphasize it. It made Murderface want to die. He swallowed, and sat back down. Abigail grinned, taking the flashlight and pounding her fist on the table.

"One of us! One of us!"

"Thisch isch the only time I've ever scheen you schmile."

"It's because I'm dead inside."

That wasn't funny. "I have a psych degree. And I know that the only way to heal this wound is with time and mature discussion. Which, judging by your character, I'm assuming 'mature discussion' never came to mind. Bottling it up like a stupid dildo doesn't help."

"Don't call me a dildo."

"You have called me a dildo before."

"Thasch different."

"Just shut up already. You're embarrassing yourself in front of  _your biggest fan._ "

"He tried to kill me." Murderface motioned disdainfully towards Edgar.

"He also made stuff that saved your ass during... you know."

"What am I schupposched to do here, anyway? Talk about my feelingsch or schome gay crap like that?"

"Well, how do you feel today?"

"You firscht."

Abigail blinked, wiping her eyes for a moment.

"I feel like shit, thanks for asking."

-

"Why're yeh leavin' 'im out here?"

_"I want him under supervision."_

Pickles gritted his teeth. He didn't want to be saddled with babysitting. Not now, not when his brother was fully grown.  _"I have to watch our son. And you have many soldiers. You don't even have to look at him."_

"You called me to ditch yer husband in my house? No wonder you an' Abigail get alahng, yer the same kind'a shitty person."

_"Stuff it up your ass, Pickle."_

The fact that Amber sounded so damn calm over the phone only worked towards making Pickles even angrier.  _"I have my reasonings. Now hang up before I take airplane all the way over to kick your pasty ass."_

"I wish he'd never married you."

_"I wish he was never born."_

Before he even got a moment's chance to retort, Amber had hung up.  _That little...!_

Entering the hall, Seth was finally being released from Mordhaus' hospital, still wheelchair-bound for the time being.

"So, when'm I goin' home."

"Eh," Pickles wrinkled his brow a bit. "naht... anytime soon, I don't think? Amber says yeh should stay, 'cause--" He could see the anger rising in his brother's face. "--'cause, 'cause, 'cause shovin' you on a plane in this condition is a bad idea!" ...Seth's expression softened.

"Great. How many guest rooms y'have, like, 50? I jus' want one with an attached bathroom and a queen-size bed." Pickles silently thanked the lord for the shocking simplicity of Seth's request. Normally he'd at least want 500 dollars stuffed under the pillow. Then he cursed himself for almost saying that he  _preferred_ depressed Seth to normal Seth. That's fucked up, bad Dillon, bad. He nodded, giving a klokateer a room number and watching his brother be wheeled away. The dazed, bored look on Seth's face. He knew it from somewhere.

But the more he tried to put his finger on it, somehow, the harder it became.

"Yeh want me t' come with?" He called out, as he'd subconsciously followed a couple feet behind. Seth shook his head, didn't even use any words. Nervously, he shot Amber a text message after ducking into a closet, as if someone was gonna see him.

_'wats up w him anyway'_

Tentatively, he awaited a response. Amber left him on read for the longest two minutes he'd ever experienced before responding.

_'probly someth do do wit that guy'_

_'mangus.'_

Pickles rose a brow.

_'oh yea rite they were like dating or w/e??'_

Then another solid pause before Amber replied.

_'ya.'_

_'wre they tha close?? i dint even hear they were datign until like. mayb two years ago'_

_'ya.'_

Amber and Seth really deserved each other. They both drove Pickles up a wall.

_'pls stop textin me pickle'_

He audibly grunted, but complied, shoving his phone back in his pocket. Suddenly, the closet flew open. Pickles flinched a bit. It was only Murderface.

"Willy? Yeh goin' somewhere?"

"No- I mean. I guessch."

"...Are yeh or are yeh naht?"

"None of your buschinessch, I'm grown."

Murderface stormed off. The links on the chain slowly began to click together.

-

"I've done awful things."

Edgar passed the half-used blunt to Abigail. She took a puff. Her arms hung limp. Murderface never realized how nasty she was on her time alone, how foul-mouthed and ugly of a person she was. They all were. "I've done and seen things that I should be dead for." 

"Yeah, you should be." Murderface grumbled. Abigail punched him in the shoulder. "Ow!"

"This is a place of..." She snickered a bit, passing the joint over to him. "This is a place of constructive emotional discussion." The pot hit hard, pulling him to the ground like a weight tied to his legs. "Don't be a fucking dildo." Murderface coughed, handing the spliff over to Toki, who nodded a bit in his direction.  _Locust Abortion Technician_ was playing, though he'd lost track of where they were on the album. He was too far gone.

"He tried to kill me."

" _Yes, but..._ "

Her eyes rolled back a bit. "...He's helpful. He helped you save me, and I'm uh... grapeful for that."

"Grateful."

"Whatever." She snrked and shrugged.

"Rockscho schaved you too, you schtill hate 'im."

"That's tooootally different."

"Whatever... schtupid." Toki passed the blunt back to Murderface, who stared, confused.

"You gets de last hit." Toki grinned. His stupid smile. It was so perfect. He wanted to cry whenever Toki smiled. "Go ons!" Like an awkward teenager, he took the joint, and buried himself in the half-second that Toki's fingers touched his own. He hit it, and felt the burn.

"I've done things that make me wish I was dead." Edgar was still talking, apparently. "It's hard to kill yourself when you're on 24-7 surveillance and in a wheelchair. I almost resent Charles for it, at times. Is that so wrong?" Abigail snorted in response.

"That's a little wrong."

"I suppose."

"Did you wanna watch  _Heathers_?"

"I did. I'm not so sure anymore."

"I did." Abigail repeated. "Not so sure anymore. God, I want some ice cream." She leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "Banana splits with chocolate. Whipped cream and maraschino cherries. Three different flavors of ice cream in a big old banana boat." As she continued to ramble. Murderface felt himself disappear. "Then I'll go to Vegas. Hit the craps table. Bet all my chips on lucky number seven and win. Bury myself in dollar bills and chocolate syrup." She stared dreamily at the flatscreen TV, pressing a hand to Murderface's chest. "I wish."

"Toki. What did he do to you?" Murderface mumbled, he didn't know what else to say.

"Beats me to shits. Says I was a victims. I tries to block out most of it." Toki shrugged. "...What's he does to yous?"

"Did I schay you could aschk?!" His voice echoed a bit. He dug himself deep into a hole. The pot wasn't making him feel better. "...Schorry."

-

Magnus Hammersmith just kept coming back.

He just never left. Even though he was dead.

There was a 'click' in Pickles' brain that night. To a night he'd long forgotten. Involving William, a glass window, and the sky. That was where it started.  _That was it._

Many moons ago, before Dethklok hit it big, before Toki, before anything, there was Magnus and William.

William Murderface, whether he liked to admit it, was a bit of a hopeless romantic. Pickles could tell, the second someone gave him affection, he'd fall into their hands. Magnus had known him before Pickles did. Magnus knew. 

Pickles wasn't sure when their relationship went from platonic to sexual, it seemed like he blinked and suddenly Magnus was grab-assing Murderface in public, whispering filth in his ear while he was drunk. And it made Pickles sick, because in the earliest of the early days, Murderface was  _seventeen_. Magnus was twenty-five years old, and Murderface was seventeen, and the poor kid barely even knew anything. 

He never knew the extent of what happened behind closed doors. On drunk nights, when it was just them, sometimes it'd come up. One time a groupie, one of the  _only groupies_ Murderface had ever gotten, came complaining to the big man Offdensen himself.

"He won't stop crying," she said. "he asked me why I'm blowing him. He's a thankless asshole."

And Offdensen apologized, and gave her some hush money. As much as they could spare at the time.

And Pickles would find Murdeface with old sweaters around his neck, tied in a noose by the doorknob, jacking himself off with tears in his eyes. And of course, Murderface would yell at him. His fear of romantic commitment, or sexual commitment, or  _any commitment_ , it must have come from there, right?

And they never spoke of it.

The rule about not caring for one another was entirely for each member of the band to remain emotionally isolated. It was better than talking about, or thinking about each other's feelings. The rule was almost amended after Murderface's attempted suicide in '96.

He was drunk, standing in the living room with one shoe on. His eyes seemed to glow in the low light. Pickles, who was crossfaded at the time, waved over to him.

_"'ey dood, what's up."_

Murderface said nothing. Pickles repeated himself.  _"Dood?_ _"_

_"Nobody'sch ever gonna love me."_

It wasn't out of nowhere. He'd been a bummer the whole year, unless he was high to hell. But Murderface gave him that look, an empty one, a tired one. Pickles had never seen him like that. He'd seen Murderface cry and scream and bawl, but never like that.

And quietly, Murderface deftly crawled through the window. Pickles screamed, and woke everyone up, because he thought his fucking kid was  _dead_ , he thought the closest thing to flesh-and-blood he had left was splattered on the pavement, left behind as paint and clay on a canvas of concrete. And Murderface was enraged when he realized he was fine. He had two broken legs and was covered in his own piss, but he was  _fine._ And he hated it.

Nothing really changed, even though it had been one of the most strikingly horrifying moments in Pickles' life.

All because of Magnus Hammersmith.

But he'd seen the face of apathy, not once but twice. And it struck him. The chain linked together.

_My brother tried to fucking kill himself._

He shot up in bed, stomach cramped up with anxiety, and ran out of his bedroom without so much as a thought. The bathrooms had medicine, where they kept painkillers, why the fuck else would he care about having an attached bathroom? He tried to kill himself and he was going to try again. Pickles threw on a pair of shorts, not even bothering with a shirt, and ran for it. It was 2 in the morning and he was running around like a lunatic.

At the speed most stars are travelling at, he broke into the guest room Seth was placed in, eyes wild. The bathroom light was on, and his brother wasn't in bed. He nearly kicked the bathroom door in, finding Seth with no pants on using the bathroom.

"...Dood! What the fuck!"

"I ain't lookin', I ain't lookin'," He groped around in the medicine cabinet, grabbing everything from ibuprofen to laxatives and throwing them in the small garbage can, then taking the bag and running away with it.

Standing near the kitchen garbage, sweat ran down Pickles' back. He fucking tried to kill himself. Pickles curled in on himself, grabbing his head. In the less-than-20-something years Pickles and Seth were in regular contact, where did it all go sour? Where did it all get ruined? Why couldn't he stop crying? He felt sick, and he held his head in his hands for a long, long time, and didn't remember going back to bed.

-

Murderface woke up screaming. He hadn't had that dream in  _years._

He was eighteen again. Him and Magnus were sitting in the car, listening to the Slim Shady LP, as he constantly did back in the day. There was no talking, as Magnus wordlessly slammed into his tiny body, strangling him until the world turned yellow, purple and blue. He woke up covered in his own piss, screaming, and crying, and begging for help. Now he'd never get back to sleep, even if he tried to.

If only he had someone to share a bed with...

No! He shook his head. He'd already learned his lesson about that... but he was so lonely.

He shuffled into a clean pair of underwear and took a blanket with him, shuffling down the hallway. His eyes were red and puffy, his lungs were tired, he just wanted to sleep. He knocked on the door to Toki's room, eyes downcast. Toki answered.

"Hellos? I's watchin's  _Felidae_."

"...Can I schleep in your room."

Murderface nearly choked on the words. Toki nodded, happily allowing Murderface inside. Toki's TV was turned on and paused, his bed was comfy, Murderface crawled onto it and under the covers. Toki giggled a bit.

"You sleeps wit' you'se socks on?"

"Muh feet get cold."

"Ams cutes, dat ams alls."

Cute? Weirdo... Murderface tugged the blanket over his head. "Why's you comes in here, anyway?"

"Long schtory."

"Can'ts be dat longs."

"Jeschusch, Toki! Why are you scho fucking intruschive?!"

Toki frowned, and then furrowed his brow.

"You coulds just says you don'ts wants to tell me."

"When I schay it'sch a long schtory, that meansch I don't wanna schay it!"

"Fines! Whatevers..."

Now they were all angry. Murderface felt tears form in his eyes and wiped them away, but they kept coming back. He whimpered, praying nobody would hear it, praying Toki couldn't tell. But Toki pulled the covers back, expression softened. "Moidaface?"

"Schtop it..." He couldn't stop crying. He couldn't stop thinking about Magnus killing him slowly.

"Moidaface, ams you okays?"

"...No..."

Toki held him. Murderface closed his eyes and sank into it, choking on phlegm and tears that ran down into his stupid, fat nose. "I don't think I've been for awhile, Toki." 

"...Me neithers."

They got closer, so close he could feel Toki's breath on his neck. It was warm, and gentle, like a leaf-swaying breeze, he leaned his head deep into Toki's chest. Tears and snot dribbled down his face, and never once did Toki get mad when it stained his nightshirt. Murderface shut his eyes, feeling... safe. He felt safe, for the first time in his whole life, he was so safe he could stay there forever and not move an inch.

"You knows," Toki started speaking. "I's glads you comes in here. I amen'ts been ables to sleeps, but was ams too scared to ask."

"...You can schleep wif me, if yuh wan'."

"Well I knows dat nows, dummies."

Murderface huffed.

"I'm tired."

"Me toos. Lets me turns de lights off and goes to beds."

-

"We're goin' for a drive."

Seth visibly knew he had no choice in the matter. It was 4 AM.

Dragging him to a midsize car, Pickles tossed his brother in as Marshall did to Kim, wincing on the sudden reminder that Seth was full of cracked bones at the moment. Seth hissed, and Pickles silently closed the door, rounding to the other side. His white knuckles clutched his car keys, clicking into the ignition.

"Where we goin'."

"Naht sure yet."

They began to speed off into no man's land. It was silent, for a minute or two, as Pickles waited for the horizon to clear of buildings and people. He just needed someplace empty. To clear his head a bit, maybe. His mouth fell open. "So, are we gonna talk about dis."

"Huh?" Seth played dumb. "Oh, yeah, can you hit me with those TF2 strats I asked about."

"No, naht that, dumbass!" 

"What else would it be."

"You  _know._ " Pickles gestured a bit, with one hand on the wheel. Seth sighed.

"Can't we jest talk about--"

"No! Gahd, yer always like this! You never jest deal with yer..." Pickles sighed. "...prahblems."

"Neither d'you." Pickles sighed again, this time even louder.

"Neither did mahm or dad."

Genetics were a cruel toy of life, indeed.

They drove in silence for awhile, no music or anything. Clearly they weren't gonna talk about it, at least not now. Seth closed his eyes halfway through, taking a little nap. He looked so innocent. It was just like when they were younger, dad would pass out and leave the fireplace on in the winter, and the two brothers would huddle in front of it. Mom always refused to turn on the thermostat. ("It's a waste of money, jest like you.")

Seth would lean his head against Pickles' chest, and Seth would close his eyes. His eyelashes fluttered, long and beautiful, like those of a calf. 

Suddenly, Pickles realized, they'd gotten to the cliffside, where the water met the rock. Pickles shook his brother a bit, and Seth groaned, like he'd been roused for school. The sun made his pupils contract, and he rubbed his eyes, grunting quietly. 

"We don't have to get out, but this place is nice 'n private."

Seth blinked.

"Are you gonna kill me?"

"Wha-- no!"

"I mean, that'd be-"

"I'm naht-"

"I just-"

"I'm naht doin' that!"

"Okay. Okay." Seth paused. "...I mean I wouldn't be mad if you--"

"Stahp it, okey?!" Pickles groaned, grabbing his head. "This isn't fuckin' funny. It's really naht. You- You tried to-"

"I tried t' kill myself."

Pickles balked. How could he say that so matter-of-factly? Seth gave him that side smile, oddly proud to have thrown Pickles off of his metaphorical skates. "I got drunk as shit, went driving into buttfuck nowhere in Australia and ran into... I think it was a huge rock." His eyes were full of a strange, sick sort of wonderment, a face like the intro of  _Apocalypse Now_ , as he recited the incident of the night. "There was fire everywhere. My bones were all cracked in all sorts a' places. An' I puked and screamed. It was a day until Amber found me, because I always incidentally seem to take the same road."

"But why did you--"

"Are you fuckin' stupid? Are you seriously retarded? Because that's how you sound."

"Enlighten me, dickhead."

"My boyfriend is DEAD, asshole."

"I mean yeah but you know you're like, an independent being from him, with your own shit to do, right?"

"Am I?"

"Whet?"

"No, really, what do I do. Dethklok Australia's a fuckin' joke, my wife hates me, my family barely knows me, and the one person i could exist in the same room with for ten seconds is dead. Kaput. Boom." Seth nuzzled up against the seat, getting nice and comfortable. "So I tried'a kill myself. Twice."

" _Twice?_ "

"First one was in the medicine cabinet. Amber got me easy."

"...You know I don't hate you, ri--"

"Oh  _really._ " 

Seth began to laugh. Not an honest laugh. A dark, cruel, empty one. It made Pickles' blood run cold. "Really! That's funny. Because you tell Amber you hate me  _all the time._ "

"I mean," He swallowed. "I don't mean it."

"And Maggie, too! He used to always tell me that you'd say how much of a fuckin'  _leech_ I was. A  _snake._ Funny that now's the point you decide you don't hate me, that the point you suddenly stop hatin' me is after I try to kill myself. You're the fuckin' snake. You're a  _fuckin' snake_."

"You- you know what? Feck you, you only ever wanted to be around me for money and drugs. And so you could  _fuck Harriet Peterson._ "

"You're still ahn that? Jesus, it's been years, and you're still not over the fact that I fucked Harriet Peterson."

"No, it's more of an example of you being a piece a' shit! Like you've always been!"

"She fuckin' seduced me, not that YOU give a shit, you're more pissed that I was at your stupid party. Not like you give a shit that we boned when I was like, 14 or something!"

"I mean, I do give a shit, but--"

"Fuck you!"

"Stop it, okay?! You being a fuckin' jack-off isn't gonna fix anything!"

" _Nothing's gonna fix anything! That's why I fucking tried to kill myself!_ "

The car went silent. Tears were beading in Seth's eyes. Pickles wanted to reach out and wipe it away. (It was 1982, Seth had slipped off of his bicycle and scraped his knee. He cried and cried, and Calvert told him to be a man about it. Pickles wiped his eyes with his tiny thumbs. "Wanna go watch cartoons?" Seth nodded, with a solemn smile.) But he couldn't. It was years too late for that. If he tried, it'd only make everything worse, probably.

"...I thought things would get better. Y'know?" Pickles shrugged. "I thought adulthood would be better, and then I thought fame would be better. I thought things would be better after Toki got out. Nothing gets better." He paused. "I never tried to make it any better. None of us do."

Seth choked out a response.

"Just kinda waitin' for god to do it."

"I don't think he exists."

"That's not very comforting."

"You're right." Pickles stared outward into yonder. "It's not."

There was a moment of silence, and the moment became a millennium. "But I'm still alive. And you are. Maybe we jest... y'know. Needa work somethin' out." Pickles coughed. "Together."

"...Yuh." Seth sniffled a bit, scraping his face with the palm of his hand. Pickles felt his chest fill with solid air, clogging his brain and his nose and eyes.

"I missed you so fecking much."

"I'm sorry."

"No, you don't-"

They were both crying. Like goddamn babies.

"I'm so sorry."

"No, I'm sahrry."

"I'm sorry!"

"I'm... I'm... C'mere, douchebag!" Seth shoved his face into Pickles' chest, and Pickles was so, so careful with him, like a china doll. The cliffside was full of wailing, the gulls screaming in unison, but it was really just two men. Two brothers. Two young boys. Faces full of snot and tears and spit, a first scraped knee, a burning car, a bottle of vodka. And then they slept, for hours, until the moon rose once again, and they drove back home.

-

Sitting on the balcony, Pickles held the binoculars to his face.

"Yep, they're really holdin' hands."

"Bullshit. Lemme see."

He passed them over to his brother, who stared down. "No way. Never thought he had it in him."

Murderface and Toki made such a lovely couple. They sat on a bench outside, counting clouds. Pickles snorted. He always knew they had a thing for each other, but never ever would he try to force it. The poor kids just weren't ready 'till now, and that was fine.

"You look like you're healing up alright."

"Yeah. Guess it's just luck.  _Or I have the fuckin' genetic make-up of a god._ "

"We both know that's naht true."

"Whatever."

Seth squinted at the mango sunset. "When d'ya think you should go back?"

"Eh. Give it some time, maybe. I think Amber needs some time alone."

"Shit, she always does."

Pickles snorted in response. "Wanna go play video games?"

"You can go ahead, I think I wanna stay out a little lahnger."

"Okay, whatever."

Seth wheeled off, whistling a tune to himself. Pickles stared upward.  _If there is a god, he's one lazy fuck._ He thought.  _That's why I take care of shit myself._


End file.
